Hello loves! While I haven't been writing, I have been working on updating some issues that have been hanging around on the layout! The Character change box is now at the bottom of the page, beside the up/down arrows! Green and Gold dragon flight dates have been shifted to the bottom of the page, where the (useless!) discord widget was located. Where the dragon flights were in the header, is now replaced by a Monthly Event box! This will be updated at the start of each month, with a fun mini-event you can take part in, if you want to! Thistle!
10.Sep.12, 07:23 AM
It's a good thing S'kef didn't know that T'shiro thought what he had was 'presence'. Otherwise, the brownrider's perfectly stoic and attentive expression might have been interrupted by a laugh.
S'kef and Tyrrisath may as well have been gargoyles. They were among the first to arrive, a habit they'd developed long ago while working for the Weyrleader. S'kef wanted to get a good look before the show began, because this was going to be an interesting, bitter game. He'd been shocked by the wing assignments. He hadn't been assigned to Wingsecond? He should have been. He was experienced, skilled, and effective. Everyone in the Weyr knew his name and half of them were afraid of him. So why not?
Oh, yeah. D'ren and his petty grudges. S'kef knew D'ren and his professional habits better than any other man in the Weyr, and he knew better than to think even he could escape the Weyrleader's mark of death. Once slighted, the bronzerider never forgave. It took a lot of pushing to hit that point, but the blackmail stunt had done it. S'kef initially wanted to protest being punished for something his weyrmate had done, but he chose not to make a fuss. He didn't want to drag his precious greenrider through the mud, and taking the Weyrleader on in a political fight wasn't going to solve a thing or do anything for his reputation.
D'ren was still a softie. He'd promised S'kef that he wouldn't tell anyone about the blackmail. He probably hadn't even told Tsuen. "I'm going to keep this away from the public as a thank you for all the turns of service', he'd said.
Your funeral, Weyrleader
S'kef was insulted by the whole ordeal, but not so insulted that he couldn't bear it. It came at a time of mixed feelings. He'd lost his job, though he hadn't exactly been fired, but he'd also claimed a gold in flight. His dragon's clutch was sitting on the sands. Jada liked him. S'kef was sure that if he played his cards right, he would win in the end. If anything, he was good at playing the part of the loyal, obedient soldier. He'd done it for turns.
He straightened and saluted when the Wingleader spoke. R'nya...he had a lot of similarities to D'ren, but S'kef already though he respected him more. Maybe it was bitterness left over from the conflict, or maybe S'kef was just jaded. Bronze no longer held the luster it once had for him. R'nya, though, seemed effective and fair. T'shiro on the other hand...
S'kef would have liked to knock his teeth down his throat. Pretentious, pushy, and completely overriding the Wingleader's authority! Was he compensating for not being a wingleader himself, or did he fancy himself superior to his own? S'kef's face was void of emotion as he listened to the instructions, but inside he couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or cry. That idiot was growling like a green in heat, and everyone knew that didn't impress anyone.
Not that S'kef didn't appreciate a hardline approach. He'd used it for turns, albeit as a foil for his mellow Weyrleader. It had been a nice way to get out his inner aggression, but this guy? What a poser.
As always, his expression remained even in spite of the many things going through his mind. It had been a long time since he'd done a wing practice, and even longer since he'd done one as a regular rider. His body had been recently ravaged by illness. He'd been exercising a little bit as part of his recovery, so hopefully this would go well.
You used to like running Tyrrisath said, bored.
I still do.
Begin? Excellent.
He dropped to the ground instantly. If he really was going to repair his reputation, it would need to start within this wing. So, he would be the perfect wingrider. He didn't so much as glance at T'shiro or bat an eyelash as he worked through his ten push-ups and lept back to his feet. He tore into his first sprint, though he started at not-exactly a sprint; no stretching (sloppy wingsecond!) and a recent enough life-threatening illness meant he wasn't about to risk a pulled muscle.
He doubled around to start his second length, working his way up to greater speed. When he turned around again, he found himself actually smiling. It had been too long, and finding himself in a wing (in any position) and acting like a dragonrider among other dragonriders...well, it made him feel like a real dragonrider again.
Tell me my time differences Turn!
Slower
Turn!
Faster
Turn!
Faster
Turn!
Rock
...Rock?
S'kef's eyes widened as he noticed a large stone that had appeared in his path, possibly kicked in his way by someone else but maybe just missed on his previous passes. He made an awkward leap over it, but managed to catch himself without falling or slowing too seriously. He laughed a little, winded but curiously excited. He slid to the stop, then hit the grass again.
It felt good to actually be doing something. It was almost fun. If nothing else, his problems were forgotten for the time being. He focused, and all else was forgotten.
S'kef and Tyrrisath may as well have been gargoyles. They were among the first to arrive, a habit they'd developed long ago while working for the Weyrleader. S'kef wanted to get a good look before the show began, because this was going to be an interesting, bitter game. He'd been shocked by the wing assignments. He hadn't been assigned to Wingsecond? He should have been. He was experienced, skilled, and effective. Everyone in the Weyr knew his name and half of them were afraid of him. So why not?
Oh, yeah. D'ren and his petty grudges. S'kef knew D'ren and his professional habits better than any other man in the Weyr, and he knew better than to think even he could escape the Weyrleader's mark of death. Once slighted, the bronzerider never forgave. It took a lot of pushing to hit that point, but the blackmail stunt had done it. S'kef initially wanted to protest being punished for something his weyrmate had done, but he chose not to make a fuss. He didn't want to drag his precious greenrider through the mud, and taking the Weyrleader on in a political fight wasn't going to solve a thing or do anything for his reputation.
D'ren was still a softie. He'd promised S'kef that he wouldn't tell anyone about the blackmail. He probably hadn't even told Tsuen. "I'm going to keep this away from the public as a thank you for all the turns of service', he'd said.
Your funeral, Weyrleader
S'kef was insulted by the whole ordeal, but not so insulted that he couldn't bear it. It came at a time of mixed feelings. He'd lost his job, though he hadn't exactly been fired, but he'd also claimed a gold in flight. His dragon's clutch was sitting on the sands. Jada liked him. S'kef was sure that if he played his cards right, he would win in the end. If anything, he was good at playing the part of the loyal, obedient soldier. He'd done it for turns.
He straightened and saluted when the Wingleader spoke. R'nya...he had a lot of similarities to D'ren, but S'kef already though he respected him more. Maybe it was bitterness left over from the conflict, or maybe S'kef was just jaded. Bronze no longer held the luster it once had for him. R'nya, though, seemed effective and fair. T'shiro on the other hand...
S'kef would have liked to knock his teeth down his throat. Pretentious, pushy, and completely overriding the Wingleader's authority! Was he compensating for not being a wingleader himself, or did he fancy himself superior to his own? S'kef's face was void of emotion as he listened to the instructions, but inside he couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or cry. That idiot was growling like a green in heat, and everyone knew that didn't impress anyone.
Not that S'kef didn't appreciate a hardline approach. He'd used it for turns, albeit as a foil for his mellow Weyrleader. It had been a nice way to get out his inner aggression, but this guy? What a poser.
As always, his expression remained even in spite of the many things going through his mind. It had been a long time since he'd done a wing practice, and even longer since he'd done one as a regular rider. His body had been recently ravaged by illness. He'd been exercising a little bit as part of his recovery, so hopefully this would go well.
You used to like running Tyrrisath said, bored.
I still do.
Begin? Excellent.
He dropped to the ground instantly. If he really was going to repair his reputation, it would need to start within this wing. So, he would be the perfect wingrider. He didn't so much as glance at T'shiro or bat an eyelash as he worked through his ten push-ups and lept back to his feet. He tore into his first sprint, though he started at not-exactly a sprint; no stretching (sloppy wingsecond!) and a recent enough life-threatening illness meant he wasn't about to risk a pulled muscle.
He doubled around to start his second length, working his way up to greater speed. When he turned around again, he found himself actually smiling. It had been too long, and finding himself in a wing (in any position) and acting like a dragonrider among other dragonriders...well, it made him feel like a real dragonrider again.
Tell me my time differences Turn!
Slower
Turn!
Faster
Turn!
Faster
Turn!
Rock
...Rock?
S'kef's eyes widened as he noticed a large stone that had appeared in his path, possibly kicked in his way by someone else but maybe just missed on his previous passes. He made an awkward leap over it, but managed to catch himself without falling or slowing too seriously. He laughed a little, winded but curiously excited. He slid to the stop, then hit the grass again.
It felt good to actually be doing something. It was almost fun. If nothing else, his problems were forgotten for the time being. He focused, and all else was forgotten.
